


Open 24/7

by MERSCoV



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Blood Loss, Blood Magic, Cussing, Dalish as Aboriginals, Dark Comedy, Department Store, Dramedy, Fights, Kirkwall, Mages, Magical Accidents, Magical Tattoos, Mild S&M, Modern Thedas, Mostly Thedas except with Modern Tech, Multi, Protective Siblings, Urban Fantasy, Violence, criminal activity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:44:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 12,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1653920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MERSCoV/pseuds/MERSCoV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apostate Cameron Hawke works a dead-end job at the local Tethras Family Department store with a hardass boss and a family to support. One day, she finds yet another hobo trying to get some shut-eye in the furniture aisle, and she gets caught up in the shit-storm she had been trying to avoid her entire life. Expect lots of blood mages, criminal activity, and general jerkass behavior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleeping John Doe

Hawke was handed a large box. “Mind putting that in the back if yer not too busy napping?” Her manager had asked indignantly.

She saluted with her free hand, nearly dropping the box in the process. “I- Uh- Oop, aye aye, Tethras.” 

Her manager squinted at her, “Yeah, yeah, just go put it in the back.” Bartrand didn’t need to say “you screw-up.” She knew what he thought of her. To be fair, she was never all that competent a worker anyhow.

Cameron Hawke readjusted her grip on the box before turning on her heel to put it in storage. On the way, she passed through the furniture section, the beds looking so inviting in their softness and blankets and- Oh, was she drooling?

She really needed to get more sleep. 

Evidently, so did the homeless man on one of the beds.

"Wait," She stopped in her tracts. _Homeless person?_ She peered over at the man, a lanky sort all tanned and tattooed. His hair was bleached, his elven ears sticking out from the nearly white locks, and his clothes were ragged. "Hey, you know, you’re not allowed to sleep in here. This isn’t a bed and breakfast!" 

She reached for his jacket to pull him out of the bedding, but the moment she grasped the dirty corduroy, his eyes snapped open. His tattoos glowed- _wait, glowed?!_ \- as he slammed her into the cardboard display. “What are you-” But then he seemed to wake up, and he released her.

"Look, buddy, you can’t just-" But he left, grumbling an apology under his breath.

She watched the hobo leave, wondering what the fuck she just saw. 

* * *

 

Hawke stacked one box over another. _Weird dudes with stupid tattoos._

He kind of vaguely reminded her of that skeevy elven friend of Isabela’s, the one who may or may not be a hitman and former prostitute.

But, then again, the likelihood that this elf was also a prostitute-turned-hitman was very low. Also, a little racist in its implications.

"Woah, nice bruise there, Hawke," Varric pointed out, cigarette between his teeth. 

She turned around to face Varric fully. “Yeah, yeah, Tethras. Why are you loitering? Do you wanna get chewed out by Brother Dearest again?”

"Shhh, do you want him to  _hear_  you?” Varric hissed, taking out his cigarette that cool way those mobsters did with their cigars in the Godfather. “Besides, what happened?”

"Tried to wake up a homeless guy nappin’ in one of the bed displays." She rotated her index finger by her ear and whistled to signal that the man was absolute bonkers. "He woke up and gave me the third degree."

Varric chuckled, “ _Andraste_ , Hawke, another one?”

"But get this, the guy  _glowed_.” Hawke whispered, as if she knew how fucking insane it sounded.

Varric suppressed a huff of laughter. “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me.”

"No way, have you ever known me to lie?" She quirked an eyebrow. Cameron Hawke was a lot of things, but a liar she was not.

Varric opened his mouth to counter her, but no examples came to mind. "Hmph," He finally grumbled, "Fine, I'll give you that. But I'll believe it when I _see_ it."

She smirked as she tossed a stray plushie in its bin. "Don't tell me you haven't told wilder tales. The fern incident?" She leaned against the door frame as she watched him bristle. "Oh, or that time you claimed you saw Carver and Meri-"

He held up a hand, "No, no, I agree with you. I tell some fucking weirdass stories. But this? Forgive me if I have trouble suspending my disbelief."

"So wordsy," She mumbled under her breath as she went back to her shift at the register.

Not that she really blamed Varric for it. After all, she hardly believed what happened herself.


	2. Faucets are Important

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke finally gets off her shift only to run into a situation.

**1:30 PM**

Hawke peered over at the clock, almost as if in mourning.

"Move already," She muttered to the barely moving hour hand in the analog clock on the wall.

Her elbows rested on the counter, right next to the cash register.

 

* * *

 

**2:30 PM**

" _Nnnnghhhh..._ " What was taking so long?

The woman put her hand on her cheek. "I don't know, honey, do you really think we need _two_ faucets in the sink?"

Her husband shrugged, "We've got enough cash on hand to get a spare. Do you want the same model or two different ones?"

"Ohhh, I don't know," She had replied, "Do you like the style?"

He clicked his tongue, "It _is_ a little tacky but..."

Oh, fucking Maker, just choose one already! 

The woman turned to Cameron with a grimace, "Do you have anything like this except with maybe less swirly things?"

"Sure thing!" Cameron told her with a smile so strained it was like to pop off.

 

* * *

 

**3:30 PM**

Cameron Hawke once again glared at the clock. It was mocking her. She knew it.

It couldn't possibly _only_ have been an hour.

"Oh, honey, this is still pretty tacky," The woman worried.

Hawke looked down at the display case, wanting to smash her head into it.

"I suppose this one will do," Her husband said finally.

Their customers grabbed up the same faucet from an hour ago. "Do you have anything like this in blue?" 

Hawke's eyes were still on the display case, barely refraining the urge for violence.

 

* * *

 

**4:30 PM**

Hawke leaned against the register. "Fuck my life."

Varric snickered as he swept the nearby aisles with an old broom. "Why, Hawke, I wouldn't say that yet. It's only Tuesday."

She shot him a look, "Yippee."

 

* * *

 

**4:59 PM**

Hawke watched the clock...well, like a hawk.

"Come on. _Move_ , you little fucker." Her fingers were gripping the register so hard she felt a sharp sting in her flesh.

Just one more centimeter. "You can do it," She hissed.

Just one measly centimeter. "I believe in you," She insisted. 

The doors swung open, and the same couple from earlier returned. "Oh, hello, we just came back to return this faucet."

**5:00 PM**

She grinned and tore off her apron. "I'm free!" The couple watched as she ran out of the store in glee.

Varric came out from behind his own register, since he figured it was the least he could do. "So, will that be cash or?"

 

* * *

 

**5: 01 PM**

She was about to put her key in the ignition.

But then she saw the fringes of a crowd. She furrowed her brows. 

Maybe it was a bad idea, but she went to check it out, right? No harm in that.

But then she saw what it was: a bunch of pedestrians gathered around a man passed out on the sidewalk.

His head was bleeding, and his hair was a shock of white.

"Well, _shit_." 


	3. Hawke Hates Hobos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke really hates crowds, but she hates people dying in her [brother's] car even more.

"Out of the way, folks," Cameron Hawke nudged her way through, "Underpaid citizen comin' through."

Once she got to the strange elf, she looped her arms around his and hefted him up. Jeez, he was bleeding more than she did every month. 

She cringed, realizing that fun surprise of mother nature's was probably going to arrive soon. How perfectly fantastic.

Focusing on the task at hand - and perhaps realizing its futility, she panted heavily as she dragged him to her car. "Why didn't... they send for a fuckin... hospital?" Or a healer, like Anders?

"I'd blame bystander effect, personally," came that amused tenor voice.

"Varric, my hero! Help me with this, won't cha?" Hawke asked, springing the puppy dog eyes on him.

Varric sighed, offering his hand "The things I do for love."

"Shut up, you know you love it." She let half of the homeless man's side sag toward her dwarven coworker, and he took up the reins of helping him into her car.

"Crap, this guy's bloodier than you on your-" But she had to cut him off.

"I know, I know. I _made_ that crack already," She grumbled as they shoved him in the back seat.

They looked over their handiwork, the blood sinking into the plush seats. "Oh fuck, Carver's goin' to be so _pissed_."

"Ah, come on. Junior would understand." But then Hawke gave him a hopeful glance and he had to add, "That you're a complete _sap_."

She squinted at him. "You're _real_ lucky you're funny, Tethras."

She looked back at the body with a grimace, hoping the bum would at least hold on long anything not to become a corpse. She shuddered, "This is _so_ far out of my league. Thank the Maker for Anders."

"And you and Sunshine," He added.

"Oh, don't remind me." She smirked, "Not as though I'm much for the healin' arts anyways."

"Don't tell me that. Tell it to _Bianca_." He countered.

"Oh, fuck you. That car lit _itself_ on fire," She grumbled.

"Suuure, Hawke. Whatever you gotta tell yourself to sleep at night." Varric's good humor fell as he gave their poor homeless man the once-over. "Need any help from here on out? He looks... pretty _bad_. As in, on the verge of dying brand of bad."

Cameron shook her head. "No, I think I can handle it. Thanks." She wished that was more than wishful thinking.

She closed the door shut and plopped herself into the driver's seat. Even as she started the ignition, she snuck a glance in the mirror showing the backseat.

Hawke saw her reflection furrow its brow. "Who the fuck is this guy?" 

* * *

 

 

Hawke slammed down on the gas pedal. No use in dawdling, she figured. There was a man dying in her backseat, and she wasn't going to say "I was too late."

That was _Anders's_ job, after all.

She bit the inside of her cheek. No, that wasn't fair. It was _her_ fault for not being a healer, unlike him and- to a lesser extent- Bethany. Not Anders's for losing a patient or two.

Speaking of life and death, a cat ran out onto the road out of nowhere. Hawke swerved the vehicle so hard she heard the hobo fly to the other side of the car. "Sorry!" Well, at least they were even now. 

After a while, she managed to steady her breathing as well as her driving. Occasionally, her gaze would roam to the mirror, catching sight of the bloodstains and wet globs of gore with a grimace. This was like some kind of horror movie, except it was going on in her freaking car rather than on a movie screen.

Well, Carver's car, but, to be fair, her brother didn't deserve such a sweet car. Nor did she, actually, considering her complete incompetence for driving. 

She glanced at her speed, stiffening when she realized she was going twenty miles over the speed limit. Cameron cursed under her breath and let up on the gas pedal. 

"Just fucking hold on, okay?" He couldn't hear her. She knew that. He was passed out in the backseat, likely with a concussion of some sort. Probably her fault, too, somehow. 

She turned right on Vimmark Avenue. If she were more devout, she'd pray that Bethany was helping out at the clinic. Otherwise.... She grit her teeth and hoped to the Maker or whoever else that her sister would be there.

"Don't die, don't die. Please don't die. Don't die, don't die." The phrase became a chant, as if everything would be better if she just somehow said it over and over. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard that her already reddened fingers started to bruise.

Even as she edged closer along Haine Road, she focused on the road ahead of her and pressed harder on the pedal.

Finally, after tree after tree and apartment after apartment, she spotted the seedy little building with the hardwood roof and barely-functioning gutter. Anders's clinic wasn't exactly a masterpiece, that was for sure, but it his. It didn't hurt that she would have died several times over if it weren't for the clinic, and dozens of apostates would never have trained either. It was a small wonder that it was considered a local treasure, albeit one many avoided to mention in case Templars were around.

 

She took a quick glance around from the safety of her vehicle, just to make sure none were around now. Sometimes, they'd come around to intimidate Anders or one of his employees, and she didn't want to get caught in the middle of a confrontation. Or a possible gunfight.

After another quick glance, she confirmed that there was no obvious Templar presence. If Cameron Hawke _weren't_ hiding a potential corpse in her backseat, she would have let out a breath of relief.

Without another moment of hesitation, she got out of the car and opened the door to the backseat. "Oh...fuck." She grabbed the poor sod and hefted him over her shoulder. He was lighter than she expected, considering his tall height for an elf. She frowned as she forced herself to run towards the clinic entrance, swallowing her worries that his lack of weight might not be such a good thing.

Did he even _eat_? She glanced around, trying to ground herself. She was in the clinic. It was quiet for this time of day, so she hoped he was even around. Maker knows Anders spent enough time around the place as it was, pushing himself just a little too hard for it to be healthy. "Anders!" She cried out, the weight of the elven hobo starting to get to her. She wasn't made for heavy-lifting.

No answer. So she readjusted her grip on the man over her shoulder and went further into Anders's workplace. It was always sweaty and warm in that uncomfortable way, and the whole place practically stank of Febreeze. Sometimes, the mustiness would overpower the superficiality of the "fresh" scent, and nausea would pore out from every inch of the walls. However, it still held nearly a hundred different patients a day, even if Anders himself was a bit of an eccentric. If one saw the disorganization that was his private office, then one could easily bump " lovable eccentric" up to "crazed madman who'd never heard of a filing cabinet."

Finally, she spotted his blonde ponytail. "Anders! This guy is dying!"

He turned around and came forward. "No "hey how are you doing?" just "oh Anders this guy is dying?" " He looked over the blood all over her and the homeless man, " _Maker_ , Hawke, set him down on a gurney."

"Where's Beth?" She asked as she set him down on a nearby gurney in the hallway, 

"I don't know. Probably with your brother." Anders laid his palms down on one of the nastier wounds, hands glowing and aura unwavering. His healing had always baffled her, considering her lack of aptitude for it.

It was one thing to destroy, but to create was another animal entirely. 

Minutes passed, hands shaking against the unconscious elf, the wounds still looking as bad as ever. He grimaced and leaned forward to get a closer look. "Look, if you have any unfinished business with the guy upstairs, I suggest you make your peace now," _before it was too late._ She heard it, but he didn't say it. Maybe he knew she would feel like shit if he did. 


	4. Dead Giveaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke hates being useless, and Anders knows lyrium when he sees it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this modern Thedas AU, Anders is still joined with Justice, albeit under different circumstances.

Hawke paced around the dingy little clinic, circling the outside of Anders's working space. She couldn't help it. She was a pacer.

This on-the-brink-of-death shit was worrying, and there was little she could do to help. Besides getting out of his way, that is. Granted, that didn't stop her from sneaking a peak at his work every once in a while.

And what she saw wasn't pretty.

Anders's fingers were nearly knuckle deep into the head wound. A flash of white that  _wasn't_  his hair sparked into her vision. She cringed and looked away. "Fucking Andraste," She muttered to herself, the palm of her hand against the steady throbbing of her forehead. How did Anders do this day in and day out? Actually, a better question was how _Bethany_  dealt with it. The girl had never struck her sister as the type to handle gore with ease. If anything, she thought maybe Carver could stomach it, considering his DVD collection. 

Then again, Carver was no mage. A fact he loved reminding everyone of. Because he was the golden boy, the non-disappointment of the family. Well, not really, more that they never needed to worry about him being taken by Templars or anything. Speaking of which, she wondered if she should call him. No, Carver was a complete dickbag. He was like to find something to scold her for rather than compliment her on her philanthropy. 

Tuning out the crackling and mushing sounds from the next room, she walked toward the window, its surface covered in a thin layer of dust. Despite this, her form was bathed in sunlight, and she wondered if she should squint out the rays or simply bask in its vague warmth. Letting in and out deep breaths, she let her shoulders lax, the events of that day leaving her just so _tense_. She couldn't remember a day lately where she wasn't stressed, where she didn't have people counting on her, where she hadn't remembered her status as apostate. If she weren't so tired, she'd call it misery or frustration or all other sorts of buzz words that gave this feeling meaning.

She remembered the olden days where she'd tease Carver and go chase down the ice cream truck with Beth. Even if that didn't exactly lift her spirits simply for the ache for its absence, it reminded her of a time where she was more energetic, nicer even. Most of all, she missed the days where she and father would take walks through the park, the sunshine filtering through the mess of leaves atop the surrounding trees.

She loved to take walks in the sunshine because she loved sunny days Anders flew into the wall with a thud, his shirt covered in blood.

Cameron Hawke rounded the hallway and charged into the room. She sighed, running a hand roughly through her hair. "Oh, fuck, not the glowing shit again."

When his eyes focused on her, she took a step back, startled from the sheer intensity in that gaze. "Where am I?" His voice was hoarse, making the demand seem more like a plead.

"You're in a clinic," She answered before leaning back to check on Anders. "You alright there, buddy?" Anders gave a weak nod in answer, slowly peeling himself from the wall.

"He used magic," From the extra emphasis on "magic," she figured it was a sore subject. 

She grit her teeth as she turned back to fix a glare on him. "Yeah, and, if he hadn't, you'd be dead already. You're welcome."

Cameron watched out of the edge in her field of vision as Anders made his way back in. "Lyrium tattoos, is it?" He asked critically, and Hawke raised an eyebrow at him. How'd he know such a thing?

The elf moved backward in his seat, scowling, probably as suspicious about this as she was. 

"Justice," He reminded her. And she sighed. Right, the _spirit_. She looked back at the still-glowing man covered in tattoos. His eyes had seemed to narrow with realization.

Fuck, he wasn't going to sell them out to the _Templars_ , was he?

"So," She said uneasily, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, "Do you have a name?"

"It's..." He hesitated before answering in full, "Fenris. They call me Fenris."


	5. Hawke and Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke tries to find a place for Fenris to stay. Also, she gets herself locked out of the house.

Hawke wasn't sure how she and this Fenris guy ended up sitting on the steps of her porch.

Oh, right, because she misplaced her keys again. That was why.

"Does this happen frequently?" Damn, he was articulate for a homeless guy - especially one who smelled of garbage and piss.

 

* * *

 

 

_"Do you have anyone to call? Friends, family, someone?" Anders had asked with a grimace._

_The strange elf glared at the hard tiled floor. "No one that I know of," He had answered, arms hugging his ribcage as if afraid it would fall apart otherwise._

_"Guess you'll have to give another freebie," Cameron Hawke commented._

_Anders pulled her aside for the sake of privacy. "Hawke, do you think you can find him a place to stay? With his injuries, he needs to take it easy, someone to watch him in case... You know."_

_She gestured around him, "Why can't he stay_ here? _"_

_He gave her an incredulous expression, "Do you even need to ask?"_

_She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, "Fuck my life."_

 

* * *

 

 

She saw his point, really. It wasn't as though they could trust this Fenris, nor was the clinic all that acceptable for anyone to be in, considering the lack of food, air conditioning, and blankets. But she really didn't like that she was locked out of their last resort. Fenris's commentary did not help at all.

"Do you really want to know?" She turned to him, "Or do you just get a kick out of criticizing me?"

"A little of both," He remarked. 

"This day has just been fantastic," She hung her head sullenly.

 

* * *

 

 

_"No can do, Hawke," Varric answered, his voice tinged with static over the phone. "It's already cramped enough over here as it is."_

_"Come on, Tethras," She tried to mask the pleading in her voice with an air of nonchalance._

_"It's not like I can move a chair or two. There's literally - not to mention figuratively- no room."_

_That rubbed her the wrong way. "Well fuck you. And your brother too," She muttered, "Don't you at least have a few words of advice?"_

_"Try Rivaini. He seems like her type," The dwarf concluded before hanging up._

_She glared down at the cell phone clutched in her hand, "That bastard hung up on me."_

_Fenris looked like he was on the verge of smirking, "I wonder why."_

 

* * *

 

 

"You didn't answer my question," He observed. She raised her head to face him, her stare scrutinizing and sharp.

She narrowed her eyes, "No, this doesn't happen often. I wake up bums, but I never take them _home_ with me."

He looked down at his hands, "Who does?"

The question may have been rhetorical, but she knew someone who fit that bill to the letter. "Isabela."

 

* * *

 

 

_She knocked on the apartment door. Crossing her arms over her chest, she tapped her foot in wait._

_No answer._

_"Isabela?" She called, having heard some noises coming from inside. Beside her, the elf bristled._

_She tried the door as a last ditch effort, and it turned out to be unlocked. Of course, she went in, temper ablaze as her eyes fell upon her tanned, well-endowed friend entangled with a stranger._

_They stopped and looked at her, not even bothering to cover up for the sake of their dignity._

_"Ready to join in, Hawke?" purred Isabela in that teasing way she always did. "Or perhaps that delicious friend of yours?"_

_"You- I-" Somehow the words weren't coming out right. "No, Isabela, that's not why I'm-"_

_"Then leave." Isabela rolled over onto her stomach, "But leave the tattooed elf here."_

_Hawke felt sorely tempted to do so. Fenris squirmed uncomfortably and met her questioning gaze with a glare. "Not on your life," He told her straight-out._

 

* * *

 

 

 

Hawke and Fenris sat there for a long while, people passing them on the sidewalk occasionally stopping to gawk. She supposed she understood why. After all, his bleached hair was quite the attention-grabber, as well as the flowery swirls of his lyrium tattoos and the scowl that seemed permanently stuck that way. 

To be fair, he had every reason to be displeased. "Sorry," She told him out of the blue.

One eyebrow raised, he peered over at her, "For?"

"For... I don't know," She swept her arms away from her on either side, as if the whole world were at fault. "This. The bullshit, the sun, take your pick."

He didn't answer, and she turned away from him to stare on ahead. She rested her chin on the crossed arms atop her knobby knees. 

The stretch of silence was finally broken by a hesitant question on her part, "Do ya... mind telling me what happened?"

"What... happened?" He repeated.

"The head wound," She said, "It was pretty damn serious, Fenris."

Another stretch of silence held, to the extent she wondered if he'd even answer her. "They came for me." His eyes focused on the ground below his feet. "The.. The men hunting me."

That caught her attention, and she straightened in her seat. "Hunting you?"

Before he could continue, the door behind them creaked open. "Cameron? What are you doing out here?" Bethany asked, leaning against the doorframe in her bathrobe with wet hair hanging over it.

Hawke got up, dusting herself off, "I hope you don't mind if he crashes here tonight. Also, I think I might need a spare key."

 


	6. Good Deed of the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hawkes take in strays all the time. Really.

"Cameron, who is this guy?" Bethany asked her directly, having pulled her into the kitchen.

Hawke frowned, wondering that herself. She looked back over at the living room, where the elf stood there taking in his surroundings with no small curiosity. Fucking, Maker, why was she always so intent on taking on charity cases? But still, it wasn't as though she could just leave the poor guy out there to _die_. 

"Look, it's just for a couple days... hopefully." She promised, bringing her attention back to Bethany's suspicions.

"What are we going to tell Mom?" And, at that, Cameron let out a string of curses that would impress even _Isabela_.

Bethany frowned, eyebrows curving upward and worried gaze focused. "I really hope you know what you're doing." Cameron could hardly stand a concerned Bethany, not when the Blighted girl was so good at it.

"Look, I'll come up with something," Hawke promised, "Just... just give me some time. Stall her."

"Carver will know something's up," Bethany pointed out. 

"I'll convince him," Cameron said quickly.

"Better think of something good," Her sister warned her.

"I _will_ ," She insisted, turning on her heel  "In the meantime, I'll go get Fenris se-"

The door swung open. "...ttled," She finished at a near whisper.

"Who the fuck is _this?_ " She heard Carver demand.

She and Bethany immediately came to the elf's rescue, for better or worse. "He uh... was just leaving," Cameron said, nudging the elf away from the living room.

"Going to the basement is not _leaving_ , Cameron," Carver glared, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Carver, please, he needs our help," Bethany laid a hand on his arm, and Cameron felt a prickle of gratitude. Thank the Maker for Bethany always keeping a cool head. 

"Yeah, well, he smells like shit," Carver grumbled, but Cameron could tell his temper was cooling. 

With one last look at her younger siblings, Hawke led the oddly quiet elf down the stairs into the basement. "It's not exactly cozy down here, but this is only temporary 'till we find you a nicer place."

When she noticed him staring, she stopped in her tracts. "What?"

He looked away, "I... It is just _strange_ , that is all. Why would you wish to help me?' At that, she cocked her head to the side, leaning in to scrutinize him in all his awkward, grumpy glory.

"Why not?" And, in turn, he scowled at her, daring to meet her stare with his own. "That's not a _reason_."

She blinked, letting that sink in. Why would she need a fucking reason to help someone? It wasn't as though her Hawke brain was tailored for sense. "You must've led a pretty sad life to think that," She commented, turning around and continuing her path down the stairs, barely giving a rat's ass if he followed or not.


	7. New Guests and New Jobs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke tries to adjust to life with her new house guest. Also, more Isabela.

Hawke had barely managed to get a wink of sleep. She was usually restless, but this was on an entirely different level. 

Maybe it was because their new houseguest, the violently mage-hating hobo. After all, it wasn't just herself she had to worry about. It was Bethany too. She had only hoped he wouldn't catch on to their apostate status, at least before she could find him a more permanent living arrangement.

As always, it fell to Cameron Hawke, apostate, minimum wage worker, and heroic crusader extraordinaire.  She dragged her fingers through the tangles of her hair, straightening it out into a decent bun for the day. With a yawn, she got up off the bed and stumbled over to her sister's side of the room. "Beth," She nudged the girl awake, lips smacking lazily, "I'm off. Make sure Carver doesn't kill our guest." When Bethany mumbled something nearly incomprehensible, Hawke kissed her sister on the forehead and went to the restroom to wash up and change.

However, the moment she rest her hand on the doorknob to go into the bathroom, the door swung open. Smacked straight in the face, she rubbed at the spot as she stumbled back. " _Carver!_ What did I tell you ab- _Oh._ "

Because not only was that _not_ Carver, but she was also probably experiencing head trauma.

Trying to force her eyes not to rake over their house guest's bare, soaking wet- She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Y-You clean up... good... nice.."

He coughed into his hand. "The.. er, the room is free for you to use." He stepped out, giving her a pathway. She wondered if he was feeling uncomfortable. If she were him, she'd feel damn uncomfortable. He probably thought she was some pervert. She scowled at that. _Better than being prejudiced against mages_ , she'd retort.

"Yeah, I see," She muttered, the reminder sobering her. Then, she closed the door behind her, now feeling almost cranky rather than flustered. Anger was good. She could handle anger. The stuttering and her heart-about-to-jump-out-her-chest-cavity thing was more than worrying. 

 

* * *

"How's you and that handsome elf of yours?" Isabela purred on the counter. 

The thing was, when she got to work, she thought she'd forgotten about it. 

Varric nudged his elbow into Hawke's hip. "Did Mr. Homeless keep you up?"

Then again, Hawke never forgot anything so embarrassing. "No, I'm fine," She grumbled, the arms crossed over her chest tightening.

Isabela laughed, "Anyways, teasing you isn't the only reason I'm here."

"You and Zev have a job for me?" Hawke inquired, mood settling considerably as she leaned back against her counter. 

"Bingo. The info's in the envelope under your desk," Isabela answered, booping Hawke on the nose. To which Hawke nearly bit her finger off.

"Jeez, you're like some kind of piranha," Isabela commented with a smirk, as if knowing all the sorts of uses for such biting.

"You shoulda seen her on her nameday when Merrill tried to get her to try that Dalish food," Varric commented.

Hawke rolled her eyes, "Yeah, well, _this_ piranha's got work to do, if you'd so kindly leave."

Isabela clapped a hand on Cameron's back, "Alright, but I'm expecting _details._ " And, before Hawke could yell out a rude retort, Isabela was out the door.

 

 

 


	8. To Keep Bill Collectors at Bay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke has to turn to their new guest, Fenris, as her last resort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title's based off of "Why Don't You Get a Job?" by The Offspring. v__v

**Pick-up: **Dumar Marina's Warehouse**  8:40 PM**

**Drop-off: **Hanged Man, Room 5A**  9 PM**

"Fuckin' Martin _again_? Really? The guy's tried to go clean more than five times by now!" Cameron groaned and stuffed the paper down her pocket, the small, crumpled up paper barely fitting. Stupid tiny-pocketed jeans. Why couldn't nicely fitting pants have decent-sized pockets? That was a question for the ages.

"HAWKE!" The shout was familiar and a daily event, but it still made her wince.

"Tethras," She greeted so sunnily she wondered if she were half-children's cartoon character. Mom never really did _say_ what Dad did for a living after escaping the Circle.

Then again, maybe she wasn't, since Bartrand narrowed his eyes in suspicion, "Why're you loiterin' about? There's vomit to clean up on aisle three, and fucking _Void_ if I'm gonna do it _myself_."

Her smile fell, and she nodded. As he marched off, she muttered, "I don't get paid enough for this bullshit."

* * *

 

When Hawke got home to prepare for the job, she went straight to her room for her supplies. 

Bethany was studying, good girl that she was. At the sight of Cameron, she turned in her seat. "Why're you in such a rush?"

Hawke ruffled her sister's hair, "How's our house guest?"

Bethany wrinkled her nose, but she answered anyhow, "Laying low. I don't think Mom suspects a thing."

"Good," Hawke winked, hands ravaging through her mess of clothes and (spell)books and knickknacks to get to her messenger bag. "Where's Carver?"

She usually took Carver out on jobs, not wanting to risk exposing their sister to the criminal underground. She always needed to have someone fighting at her side, considering her skillset laid more with the arcane arts than the martial arts. It wasn't as though she could bring anyone else. Their friend Aveline wouldn't stoop so low. Varric preferred information brokering to actually getting his hands bloody. Anders seemed stressed enough as it was lately. Isabela and Zevran usually were off running their own jobs. And Merrill? Well... Their styles were far too similar for the Dalish girl to make much of a difference in a fight.

So, that usually left Carver, as much as they disliked one another. If she cut him half the earnings, he even agreed not to tell Mom or Bethany. Sure, those two knew her and Carver were running on extra jobs, but they didn't know what they _did_ on those jobs. She suspected he didn't tell them for his own sake as well as hers, since would they think of them if they knew they committed crimes to keep their humble home afloat?

Things were supposed to be _good_ after they left Meeran and his blasted Red Irons. They even had enough coin to move out of Gamlen's place. 

Bethany shrugged, "Last I saw, he was in the kitchen."

"Thanks, Beth." Hawke let out a long, steadying exhale, slinging the heavy messenger back over her shoulder. She looked back with a grin and a small wave. "Don't wait up!"

* * *

 

 

Her palms slammed down on the table in front of him.

"What!? What do you _mean_ you "already have a job?" " Didn't they have an agreement? A deal? Something? At least, a bond based on trust and loyalty in which they'd split the profits every time? Just the thought of him breaking that made her feel so fucking _stupid_.

"I already have a job. I don't need to go running errands anymore," Carver said, smug smile plastered on his face. "Besides, it's a legit job. Exc _use_ me if I don't wanna go ruining this opportunity!"

"Yeah? Goin' straight?" Hawke rolled her eyes, "What kind of minimum wage gig didja get? Ice cream parlor? Gardener?"

He scowled, "Why can't you just be fucking _happy_ for me for once, Cam?" And, with that, he stormed off.

She swallowed, picking up her messenger bag from off the ground. "Guess that means I've got no back up, then." Thanks a lot, Carver.

"Not necessarily," A voice shook her out of her brooding, and she turned to see a shock of white hair.


	9. Having Car Trouble?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke's sanity is questioned by the violent, mage-hating homeless man.

The moment he said, "Not necessarily," was another moment she cursed him for both his nosiness and his fucking great vocabulary. Did he swallow a dictionary for breakfast or something? He wasn't very good at playing the role of the ignorant, probably lyrium-addled hobo. 

But she needed him. Like he needed her yesterday, when he was bleeding out on the ground with so many people gawking and not a _single_ one about to _help_ him. _He's not even fully healed_ , she suddenly thought.  She sighed, getting another headache.

"Fine, can you hold your own in a fight?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "You were _bleedin'_ pretty darn bad in that alleyway by those men hunting you."

His brows furrowed as he considered that thought. "I was surrounded," He replied, almost sounding defensive for a moment there. 

She flashed him an impish grin, which seemed to only make the elf warier. Whatever. He'd either learn to trust her, or he wouldn't. "Let's not waste time," She told him, leading him out to the garage. _Anders is going to have my head for this._

The lights overhead flashed on with a flicker. If only they had the cash to get the wiring replaced, but that was what outings like this were for. With that in mind, she pushed her hand down into the messenger bag, fishing for the extra set of car keys. When they were found, she clicked the car doors unlocked and threw the messenger bag inside. She didn't even bother to note the car seats in the back still stained with blood, most of it brown and crusty.  

 _Oh, just spray some Frebeeze on it. It'd be fine in no time_ , she assured herself. Maybe this was why Carver found himself a _real_ job. Whatever that meant.

He opened the door to the driver's seat and sat himself down, strapping himself in so fluidly he must have done it a thousand times. 

"You can drive?" She asked, having not pictured the homeless man with no possessions to be an avid driver.

"I used to drive someone around frequently," He replied, gripping the steering wheel.

 "Like... a cab service or something?" She asked, but she didn't receive an answer as she buckled herself in. Somehow, she couldn't imagine him as a cab driver. Who would let themselves be driven around all the time by someone with gaudy tattoos? Fuck, she sure hoped he still had a usable licence.

If not, well, it wasn't as though what they were doing was strictly legal anyways. What was another charge anyways? Unleashed apostate, involvement in a smuggling ring, possession of unregistered firearms, not to mention... Her eyes strayed to the messenger bag, then down to the pink-tinged scars on her hands. Ever the reminder.

_I'm trying, Papa, I'm really trying._

She slipped on some black gloves, sleek and shiny. They made her feel positively mysterious, like straight out of some spy flick. Now, she wouldn't have to look at the evidence of her dirty work. Taking out a black sweatshirt, she slipped it over her head, wondering why the car was going so slow. It barely felt like they were moving. Her arms went through the sleeves, and she turned over to glance at their driver. Were they moving? His hands were on the wheel, the car in gear, his foot on the pedal. This really didn't make sense. 

"You're driving like an old lady!" She exclaimed, throwing up her hands, "We're gonna get pulled over!" She really didn't need another shot on her record.

"Do you _want_ to draw attention? I certainly do not," He replied, voice on edge - which nearly turned into a shout when he saw the reflection of her getting out of her seat. " _Hawke!_ "

She flashed him a dirty look, unbuckling her seatbelt and crawling out from the back. "Move over, elf!"

"Hawke, get _back_ in your seat!"

"Nope! Just let me-" **_Whoosh._**

Their fight for the steering wheel caused the both of them to lose control as it swerved back and forth. They went from the right lane to the left lane to the right lane again.

Then, however, a car sped right in their direction. Closer and closer, and their fight for the wheel continued until he slapped her hands away. Her eyes stared straight ahead, finally noticing the other car brightly lit by the two sets of headlights between them. Its headlights came closer before Fenris finally grabbed control of the wheel and jerked it out of the vehicle's direction.

Several moments of silence passed between them, Fenris and her panting from the sheer excitement of that close call. Her fingers dug into the headrest of the seat next to him. Because fuck if her heart wasn't beating straight out of her chest at this point, and certainly not in a good way.

"You almost got us into a car crash," She said out of the blue, voice breathy and almost morbidly quiet.

He scowled, finally having had enough of this nonsense, "Are you _mad_ , woman? Not wearing your seatbelt, interfering with the driver..." 

At that, Cameron smiled. She propped her chin on the seat's backrest. "Just part of my charm."

"Well, spare me," He grunted.


	10. Leave a Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate hates his job almost as much as Hawke does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from Nathaniel Howe's point of view. Most of these chapters will obviously be from Hawke's viewpoint, but, sometimes, another perspective will be explored.

Nathaniel Howe hated his life-long career as Comissioner Cousland's lackey. From birth, it was almost as if his father handed him over to the blasted girl.

"Yes, I've got the shipment in," He grumbled into the phone, "No need to get your panties in a twist, Comissioner."

He heard a huff of indignation on the other end, "Look, it's an important one. I didn't even need to convince Martin to get the deal settled."

His eyebrows raised, "Just how much lyrium is it?  Are we going to get the cops on our ass for this?" _Let's just hope we're not pushing our luck here._ The magic of the Howe and Cousland prestige could do many things, but, one day, Nathaniel suspected they'd get in over their heads. On that day, they'd have to face the music, maybe in shackles or maybe just in good, old-fashioned disgrace.

And did Elina take that seriously? No, she laughed, and he wasn't sure if she was laughing at his question or his audacity in _asking_ it, "Look at the time, Nate. It's almost nine PM! I've got dinner with Alistair and the folks."  And then she hung up. Dinner with her parents, new arm candy accompanying her. The same bread and circuses as always, it seemed. Now, it was with someone of the name "Alistair." 

Well, he couldn't blame her for dumping him for a better beard. This Alistair seemed much more amiable to her demands than Nate had ever been. Still, it had been _shit_ timing, he thought, with Dad offering to pay for a wedding.

As that familiar automobile drove up for the first time in a week, he couldn't help but feel even grumpier. He slid the phone back into his pocket, not bothering to dwell further, not when he was readying himself for a headache in the form of a girl named Hawke.

She made her way to him in quick, easy strides, clad in her dark sweatshirt and jean ensemble as usual. She smirked, probably thinking herself pretty damn observant, "Haven't seen you in a while. Still the Comissioner's whipping boy?" Annoying as fuck as usual, too.

But, where usually stood Carver, stood a stranger. Rather than a tall, bulky human with dark hair and fair features, it was a tanned elf with bleached platinum hair and tattoos. Nate shook his head at the sight. The elf looked more like a drug addict than a hired thug. Then again, those two categories had a lot of overlap, he noticed. 

Nate curled his lip, "Hello, _Hawke_. Who's your friend?"

The elf crossed his arms over his chest, "We are _not_ friends." Well, at least this guy had some common sense. 

Hawke rolled her eyes, her own arms crossed, "Where's the shipment, Howe?"

Nate bobbed his head back with a turn, "It's back with the barrels. Look for the small crates with the red logo."

"Got it," She answered, walking past him with her new partner in tow. As they went to get the shipment, he could hear them start to bicker. 

Some nonsense about a parking violation. He really didn't care to listen further.

As their arguing faded into the background, he heard the low hum of his phone vibrating in his pocket.  He grimaced as he looked at the screen, but he set it to his ear all the same.

"What is it, Anders?" He asked, not eager to do another favor for him after _last_ time. 

"Is Hawke there?!" Anders sounded panicked, hoarse like he had been screaming for days. "G-Get her. Tell her... I- Tell her that I nee-" It cut off with a crash. The line went dead, and Nathaniel's heart stopped.

What the fuck was _that_? He tried calling again, dialing quickly in hopes that Anders would pick up. He didn't, and Nate had to resist the urge to throw the damned thing to the ground. _"Hawke,"_ Anders had said, _"Get her."_ He groaned. He was not paid nearly enough for this. No Hawke in sight, he rounded to the back of the warehouse, wondering what _was_ taking Hawke and her elf so long.

There they stood, in the doorway across from about four or five hired guns. 

"Get 'im, boys," The woman with her gun cocked and at the ready had said. _Oh, so that's why._ It was shit like this that made him want to demand a better insurance plan.


	11. At the Beep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris gets a nasty surprise, though Hawke doesn't see how that's HER fault.

The moment she spotted the strangely dressed woman with knives approaching them with nearly a dozen underlings at her heel, Cameron Hawke knew something was up. She didn't recognize this as another of Cousland's lackeys.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Fenris sneer. _Definitely_ not one of Cousland's lackeys, then.

"You know your orders, boys! Get the elf or die trying." That was Hawke's cue to run the hell away from here. Common sense told her that, Maker, these were a _horde_ of thugs armed to the teeth, that she and Fenris were grossly outnumbered. She should have dragged Fenris off and led a gateaway like in the movies, or, better yet, just left him to face the music of whatever gang he'd gotten himself in trouble with. 

But Cameron was never rich in sense, as her mother liked to say. Besides, Fenris attacked first, and she really hated leaving a comrade-in-arms behind. 

"Then you'll die," She swore she heard the elf grunt as he practically tore someone's throat out with his bare hands. Fucking Andraste, where'd this guy _come_ from? Certainly not Ferelden, from what little she remembered of it.

She was so distracted she nearly forgot to dodge a punch coming her way. The man was a burly fellow, huge muscles and everything.  Why he wasn't carrying a gun, she didn't know. All she knew was that he was leaving a weak spot open, and she was fully intending to take advantage of it. With a kick, he cringed backwards, and she slammed her body into a punch brimming with force magic. The scars on her hand sung to her in response, stinging and buzzing an alluring tune.  _Shut up_ , she nearly said aloud, but she channeled the aggression on another guy by hurtling another guy into the wall. Then, she elbowed a woman at her right in the ribs, pinning the mook's arm to her back when she doubled over, as if on cue.

Mana running low, she felt her lips chap, parted from exertion, as she raised a hand to wipe the sweat off her brow. Just then, however, another man approached head-on, his sprint almost catching her off-guard. She would have dodged usually, in such a situation, but then he'd be knocking into Fenris, her back-up, rather than thin air. Therefore, heart beating extraordinarily fast, she stood her ground, unleashing an orb of flame, before catching her breath and moving onto the next opponent. 

She wasn't a skilled fighter like Carver or...well, this fucking insane elf here with the glowing fists, but she made do. Speaking of said insane elf, he even covered her ass when some other mook came out of nowhere. Well, not _literally_ covering her ass because that'd be really awkward and why was she getting weird right now? There were more of them coming! This was no time to be thinking about butts and touching them- Oh, there she goes again. She bit her already split lip, cursing herself for her own tendency to distraction. No wonder she couldn't keep a steady job.

The moment she heard someone approach from behind, she turned, ready to face the fucker who thought he could sneak up on them. Oh, Howe. How nice. Well, at least he was taking out his gun. It wasn't as though hers had the juice to take out ten thugs in a row. 

"Get 'im, boys," the ringleader announced, not bothering with threats this instance, which was probably wise. The moment they took out their guns, however, Hawke wasn't sure whether to be worried about getting shot or insulted that she and Fenris hadn't been considered a  _threat_  until then. Considering her own handgun didn't have that many bullets and she herself was running low on mana, she probably should have been more concerned, especially since the relative low number of thugs this round was gaining reinforcements. 

At least, so did they, even if it was one man and not a fuckton. Going to crouch behind a crate, Nathaniel pulled her down with him by the sweatshirt, "How much you got left in you?" He asked solemnly, cocking his gun.

Back pressing into the wooden crate, she fumbled for a tiny vial of lyrium she swore she had on her when she left home. "They've been throwing waves and waves of them at us. No, I haven't got much- _fuck_." Did she leave it in the bedroom? The car?

"Packing heat?" He grunted as he peaked above the crate to fire bullets into a few thugs before hiding back down again. She nodded, taking her gun in hand and feeling for the trigger with her index finger.

"Where's that git, anyway?" She muttered, wondering where her partner was in all this chaos. 

"We've got bigger problems," Nate replied, eyes ahead to the next wave of hired goons. Hawke shot a couple times, managing to at least bring down one of them, before returning to her back against the crate. Howe unleashed the fury of his firearm then, likely hoping to distract them with the flashiness of his gun. Cameron Hawke couldn't help but roll her eyes at that. 

About to fire off the remainder of her bullets, she pulled up and saw one of the strangest sights she had ever been treated to in her lifetime.  The crazed homeless man had appeared nearly out of thin air. Did he happen to have a fucking invisibility cloak on hand or some shit? Was she simply seeing things? Did she ingest some weird drug on accident? After all, Carver kept some weird shit in the medicine cabinet before. But, what was craziest was that, the elf was fucking _winning_. Her finger on the trigger stilled as he proceeded to beat the shit out of the remainder of the thugs after him, even as they tried to fill him with bullets. 

And, hands fucking glowing, Fenris grasped the heart of the ringleader and squeezed. "I am **_not_** a slave," He growled under his breath, like this was some episode of one of Mom's angsty soap operas. 

Then, he crushed her heart like a grape.

 

* * *

 

 

The moment Fenris had stormed off, having said he "needed some air," Nathaniel wasted no time in telling her the bad news of the day.

"Anders called," Nathaniel spouted off, voice quick and not at all composed, "There were loud noises in the background. I think he might've been raided. Robbed. I don't know."

"W-what?" That sounded like a bad joke. "He's the fucking town healer! No one would dare even _touch_ that bastard!" Not while Cameron Hawke was still breathing, anyway.

"Well, whoopdee-freakin'-do," Howe somehow said with a straight face. "He said he needs you. At least go check it out."

"Of course!" She couldn't help but agree, even in her need to be aggressive. "I'll go once I've got my shit gathered."

Nathaniel started dialing on his cell for the backup once that was all squared away, and Hawke managed the clean-up well enough on her own. All throughout, her mind was just swarming with all the latest news. Her previously homeless houseguest could drive. He could also turn invisible or teleport or whatever _that_ was. Also, more importantly, Anders was in trouble, and, apparently, he had Nathaniel Howe's cell phone number on hand. Hawke learned something new every day. Not that she exactly liked the idea of Anders and Howe being chummy.

Slipping the gun back in its place, she braced herself for whatever was to come.

However, she hadn't exactly expected to see Fenris leaning against the car, glaring straight at her. What was this? The Amell family reunion? No, in that case, there'd be a truckload of beer. 

"It never ends, does it? I escaped a land of dark magic only to have it haunt me at every turn." You know, she could've really used that beer about now. "And now I find myself in the company of yet _another_ mage. I should have realized sooner."

Hawke didn't balk from confronting him head-on. She stood her ground, looking him straight in the eyes. "What? The spellbooks hidden about the house didn't give you a clue?"

"I suspected one of your family to be a mage. Not you," He responded.

"Considering your policy on magic, you should understand why I didn't tell you," She countered, "Now, I'm owed an explanation. I've fed you, clothed you, let you sleep under my roof. I've even fought for you. I'm fucking entitled to know who those people were and _why_ they were after you."

He looked away from her then, a sign that she was right. "I imagine I appear...ungrateful. Nothing could be further than the truth. Despite your...abrasive attitude, you have supported me in a situation where most wouldn't even bat an eye. You're right. You should know why I'm...being hunted."

She pressed the button on her car keys', the door to the car unlocking with a thick click. "Can you tell me on the way?" 

 


	12. Shot the Templar, But not the Deputy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a reference to Bob Marley's "I Shot the Sheriff."

Sitting in the car, Hawke shifted in her seat to look at him, elbow resting against the windowsill. "Wait, I thought slavery was illegal."

"In _Kirkwall_ , yes, it is," Fenris explained bitterly, hands gripping the wheel, "In Tevinter, the slave trade is practically the backbone of society. Not that they would ever admit it." 

"Fuck. Well, don't take this the wrong way, but," She bit her lip, knowing just how fucked up this was, "Why'd they want you so much? Is it the glow-y thing?"

His eyes glanced toward her, the raised eyebrow facing her. "Glow-y thing." As the moments passed, she thought she saw his lip quirk upward.

"You know what I mean!" She insisted, flailing for a better way of explanation. "The fisting...um... invisible thing."

The trace of good humor in his eyes was then gone, to the extent she wondered if she just imagined it. "The lyrium tattoos give me a great number of abilities."

She also noticed his eyes were now glued to the road, so she looked away in turn. "Still, lyrium's toxic to the body. I'm shocked you're still breathing."

"Indeed," He said as they turned a corner, "They cause me a great deal of pain. I don't know the exact procedures of the ritual, only that it allowed me, through magical means, to live with vast amounts of lyrium underneath my skin."

"Oh," was all she could say because, honestly, she believed him. 

Barely a few moments of silence passed before he asked, "This was it, right?" She peered over and saw the clinic in sight. She nodded and leaned her head back against the window.

She spotted Templars cars in the front, all red with the Chantry's logo on the side. She swallowed hard, hoping that her friend was still breathing. Not unlike what happened to Fenris with his lyrium tattoos, it'd be a miracle. 

All Cameron had were hopes and a whole lotta guts, though, she had to admit, those two things had served her well thus far. 

"It's quiet," Fenris commented uneasily as they parked the car. 

"Too quiet," She agreed as she shoved the door open and climbed out. 

He followed her to the clinic, though she could scarcely notice with how quiet that damn elf was, and he waited as she knocked on the door.

There was no answer, so she knocked harder. "Anders?!" She called out, before practically slamming her knuckles against the plywood.

She fished out for her ring of keys, since Anders figured that one day she'd get hurt on some job while he was out. Turned out it was a good idea, despite her initial reluctance, but she fucking hated that he was right. 

The key slid in shakily and met the lock with a firm click. Opening the door, she immediately went in, hearing the crush of broken glass beneath her soles. "Fucking Andraste."

She looked back at Fenris before continuing inside. There was blood and glass everywhere, the former a usual sight but the latter made the scene worrying. Immediately, she went in search of her apostate friend, scouting out the area until she came across a dead body. Like the hallway, he was covered in blood from the wound on his neck, the rest of him covered in kevlar underneath the official Templar uniform. She turned her head to see even more of such bodies in a state.

"Shit! Anders, these are Templars," She hissed under her breath. Dead Templars. Actually, _several_ dead templars.

Everyone knew you didn't mess with Templars. 

She combed a hand through her hair, knowing she was _way_ out of her depth here.

"The abomination killed Templars. I don't see how this is surprising," He commented, "In any case, he doesn't seem to be here."

She had a million, infinitely creative number of insults to hurl at him, but she slumped against the wall instead, letting out a deep, weary sigh. She was so tired. This had been a long day, far too long, if someone asked her. "Save it, Fenris. Let's just clean up and go."


	13. Freedom Came My Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders gets a rude wake-up call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is, obviously, from Anders's point of view.

Anders was renowned for fucking up. His escapes from the Circle was legendary, almost as famed as his returns to said tower due to some happenstance or another. But, no, he had messed up _majorly_ this time.

"Look, Blondie, it wasn't your fault," Varric told him, shoving a pile of Merrill's books out of the way to sit next to him.

Anders wrapped his arms around his legs, wanting to bury his face in his knees. "I lost _control_ of Justice. They were Templars, I know, but...I lost control. _That's_ on me."

Varric frowned, leaning over to pat him on the shoulder. "Just focus on what you can fix. There's no use in focusing on the past."

Just then, Merrill bounced in, hopping over the various knick-knacks scattered all over the carpet and dodging all the nearby junk stacked atop plastic bins. "Oh, Anders," She said, setting the tray in her hands down onto the coffee table. 

Anders picked up the steaming cup of tea with a small smile. "Thanks, Merrill."

"Is there anything else you need?" Merrill asked, sitting herself on the edge of the coffee table, "Anything we can do?"

"Daisy, he'll be fine," Varric insisted, rubbing his temple by one twitching eyebrow, "He just... I'll take care of it. The law won't be lookin' for you, Blondie. I can promise that much."

"It's not about the law," Anders told them, though that sounded painfully argumentative and not at all promising. Even to his own ears. "What if I lose control again? What if someone else gets hurt? An innocent? A _patient_ , even?"

Varric and Merrill exchanged a look. Oh no. Not this again.

The dwarf took a bite out of a scone from the tray, pointing the unbitten end at Anders."I hate to bring it up again, but..."

"No! I am _not_ taking a vacation," Anders said with a finality that scared himself a little, "Do you know how many free clinics there are in Kirkwall? One. Just me."

"Anders," Merrill looked away, "You're very dedicated - we know that, but everyone needs to take a breath now and then."

"Besides, when's the last time you've gotten some shut-eye?" Varric asked, probably taking note of the heavy, dark bags under Anders's eyes. 

"I- I-" He sighed. The guy had a point, as loathe as Anders hated to admit it. "Some things are more important than my well-being."

"But, Anders, this isn't just about your well-being anymore," Merrill commented, "It's your patients' well-being. Your friends' well-being too. Hawke wouldn't want you to work yourself to death."

"Actually," Varric glanced toward the phone on the wall. "Sure you don't want me to call her?"

"And tell her what? That I screwed up?" No, Cameron had her own problems to deal with. She didn't need to carry his burdens, too.

"I think she deserves to know when her friend is in trouble," Varric said simply, hopping off the sofa and leaving the room. 

Before leaving to give him privacy as well, Merrill set her hand on his. "It's for the best that she know. If I were her, I would want to know." Then, she picked up the tray with a hum and left him there in the living room surrounded by scattered belongings and colorful plastic bins. Merrill and Varric's home was a nightmare for a clean freak, certainly for a doctor who valued sterile equipment. But Anders wasn't really a doctor, was he? Just a healer and a runaway on top of that. Now, he could add murderer to the list.

Getting up with a sigh, he maneuvered around the trash cover the carpeting, and he dialed that familiar number with dread only building. "Nate? It's Anders."


	14. Fit of Broody Pique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric gets to know Fenris. Also, some Zevran finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a really shitty chapter. I'm sorry. I didn't have a chance to send this to my occasional Beta.

When Hawke came into work the next morning, Fenris with her since her mother had declared the day set aside for "Spring Cleaning," everything was pretty much the same. Varric was weirdly chipper as always. Their manager was a hardass as always. The display out in front was cheesy as always. The only factor introduced to the scenario was, well, the fucking homeless guy who assaulted her, who her mother would never have let into the house, much less let him _live_ there. Also, who hated mages like her and Bethany. Wait, why was she helping him again? _Fuck it, I should face it already: I have a bleedin' heart for misfits and fugitives._ Not that having a conscience was necessarily a bad thing, but the Hawkes were already on thin ice as it was. 

Still, she had the common sense to send Fenris to the magazine aisle. Maybe he'd be so engrossed in _Vogue_ that he wouldn't terrify the early bird customers.

Meanwhile, she'd clean up the front with her pal Varric. He may have been the manager's baby brother, but he wasn't given special treatment. Otherwise, she probably would have hated the Tethrases more. Speaking of, he rested his chin on the tip of his broom, smile coy in that trademarked Varric Tethras upturn. "So, did you sort everything out with Blondie?"

 _What?_   She set down her broom after it nearly slipped out of hand, leaning it against the glass window. "What?" It was like being doused with ice water. "I haven't seen him for days! Have you seen 'im?" 

He stared wide-eyed, the rest of him stiffening. Something she didn't know of was going on, and Cameron decided she didn't like it. "Varric," She warned.

"He showed up at my place," Varric explained, resuming his attentions on his broom sweeping. "He was all shaken up and needed a place to stay for a night or two. I- I honestly thought that he called you."

"Well," She gestured her arm then, needing to do something with her arms lest she break the display in her stewing anger. "He didn't."

"I wonder who he called then," He mused, and she picked up her broom again before Bartrand could come around and tear her a new one.

"Is he still there?" She asked, "I mean... It's probably not a good idea for him to go to the clinic for a while..."

"I don't know if he's at the clinic," He turned and bent to get a difficult to reach spot with his broom, "But he's certainly not at my place anymore. Daisy said that some van came and got him."

Hawke swallowed, "Like...a Circle-affiliated kind of van?"

"No, no, she would have said so," Varric told her breezily, "Just one of your average _black_ , window-less _vans_ where strangers offer kids candy."

She rolled her eyes, "Ha-ha." She had the urge to shove him for being so casual about _kidnapping_.

"No logo or anything. Not even a licence plate. Contacted a few friends to see if they saw anything like that recently," He informed her, hopping off the display's step and sweeping toward the registers. 

"Lemme know if they tell you anything worth knowin'," She said as she finished up. Varric gave her a firm nod.

* * *

 

Thankfully, Bartrand hadn't seen Fenris skulking around yet. Otherwise, she would have heard about it. Loudly. Before being threatened with a pink slip, of course.

"Is this what you do all day?" Fenris asked after a few hours, "Just stand around and...chat?"

"We also wake up hobos," Varric retorted and gave Hawke a look, "And take them home with us."

Hawke crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring Varric's unneeded quip, "No, Fenris, we don't just _stand around_." Her frown deepened, and she shifted her weight. "Not all day."

"Hey," Varric shrugged, "It takes a lot of pluck to avoid work all day. We're practically pros at it."

"Yeah, yeah, some of -" Hawke crouched down to tighten the ties of her sneakers, accidentally banging her head on the counter, " _Fuck!_ Ow... Some of us gotta actually work for a living."

"Right," Varric muttered, remembering her little errands for Isabela's contacts. "Well, now that you're going to be hanging around for a while...You should get to know the gang."

"The... "gang?"" Fenris inquired, one eyebrow quirking upward.

"Maker, no," She protested, "Do you honestly think he'd take well to Merrill? Anders he gave the third degree, and he's not so crazy about me, either." 

Fenris cleared his throat. "I believe I can speak for myself."

"Yeah, Hawke," Varric smirked, "Let the elf speak for himself." All the while, Varric circled Fenris, scrutinizing him, observing him. As if he was trying to peg him before someone else did. _He's tryna come up with a nickname, isn't he?_

"Though...I'm not exactly- I don't think I- Er, as Hawke said, I do not believe I'd get along with your...friends." The circling was probably making him feel nervous. To be fair, Cameron would feel the same, though before she could say anything, the dwarf stopped to say it.

"You know!" Varric snapped his fingers. "I think I'll call you Broody!"

Fenris narrowed his eyes. "Please don't."

Hawke smirked, leaning over her counter. "Actually, I think it fits you kinda well, Fenris."

His nostrils flared. "No, it does not."

"It _so_ does," She insisted.

"Broody it is, then," Varric said before returning to his own place.

"He's not hanging out with the guys, though," Hawke emphasized.

" _Sure_ , he isn't," Varric replied cryptically, drawing out the first syllable suspiciously.

"Varric," She warned.

Fenris leaned against the gum display by her register, "Not if you're going to call me "Broody.""

"Mhmmm," Varric continued in that fucking sardonic tone, as if they were going to see the error of their ways. Fucking Tethras.

Just then, though, a familiar face strolled in as if he owned the place. "Hawke, Tethras!" He greeted with that Antivan lilt. "And a stranger, of course."  
"Cut to the chase, Zev," Hawke muttered.

"I think it's...best we speak in private for this," Zevran told her, his smile fading slightly before he forced its upkeep.

She furrowed her eyebrows, coming out from behind the desk. "Is this about...last night's-?"

He gestured outside, and, taking a last look at Varric and Fenris, she went out with Zevran. To "talk."

"Broody," She heard Tethras say as she left, "Best not to follow. Just a word of advice."

* * *

 

Outside, the sun was blaring its usual sunshine. Hawke wasn't feeling particularly sunny herself, and, really, she would have appreciated it if the weather was appropriate to her mood. For instance, right now, she was feeling panic, tons of wind, and maybe a thunderstorm or two.

"Look, Zevran, about last night," She stated outright, "We got ambushed! That's not our fault. Besides, a friend of mine turned out to be in some trouble. Howe told us the job'd be taken care of." But Zevran raised a hand, and she closed her mouth uneasily. 

He tossed his cigarette to the ground. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she could hear Bethany exclaiming that Zevran was littering. As if she was surprised that a cog in the Cousland-Howe criminal machine would have such little respect for their environment. As she watched him step on it, she wondered if he even cared that the shit was bad for him. That never stopped Varric. From the devil-may-care smile on his face, she guessed he didn't. "Relax, my dear Hawke. I am but a supervisor and, in this case, a messenger."

What did that have to do with anything? Cameron frowned, really hoping he'd get to his point. 

His smile widened, not really a reassuring gesture if anyone asked her, but he continued, "Cousland happens to not be angry with you. She is simply...in a word, disappointed. Be that as it may, you have served us all well in the past."

She shifted the weight on her feet. "Am I gonna wake up at the bottom of the lake with cinderblocks chained to my ankles or not?"

Zevran chuckled at that. "Ah, but in that case you would not wake up, yes?" His hand pushed down his pocket, taking out his box of cigarettes. "Always to the point, Hawke. I certainly do love that about you." He put one between his teeth and bit down lightly, taking out a second and holding it out for her. She shook her head, and he slipped it back in its casing. Her arms were crossed tightly against her chest. She hadn't even realized it until now, come to think of it. 

Hawke uncrossed her arms and sighed, combing a hand through her hair, "I guess it's too much to ask that I get paid for yesterday?"

"Hmm," He hummed, lighting his cigarette with the bright orange lighter, "What do you think?" Figures. _Hauled my ass out there for nothing._  Something about it was just so morbidly amusing, like some overly convoluted train wreck. 

She sniggered, a smirk pulling at her lips, "Well, I asked." She shook her head and turned to go back in. She had been pushing her luck with Bartrand so far, and she didn't want to get chewed out for loitering outside. She could only imagine the insults he'd throw her way. "Well, if you're not gonna kill me, and you don't have anything else to tell me..."

"Actually," His cigarette angled upward as he bent down to retrieve something from his back pocket, "She gave you an errand, perhaps in light of your...unfortunate circumstances. Twenty sovereigns if you deliver."

She grabbed the envelope from his hand a bit too eagerly, "Sure thing, Zev." If she weren't in such need of funds, she probably would have told him to fuck off, that she wasn't their charity case. In the end though, she was. She pushed through the glass doors, stopping upon the sight of Fenris about to what? Was he leaving? Where did he have to go?

"I..." He looked away, his hands hanging limp at his sides.

Varric interjected breezily, "The elf got worried."

Hawke attempted a smile, imitating her most amused expression "Worried? About little 'ole me? Preposterous." She stepped around him, heading toward her register. She was a mage, after all. Hah, "worried!" If anything, he was worried she'd turn into a big, scary abomination. Even when he looked at her then, she knew all he saw was some mage about to go bad.


	15. Secret Agent Apostate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke gets a strange mission from Commissioner Cousland.

Varric eyed the envelope in her hand as she leaned over to reach the office supplies. "You got a job, then?" 

Hawke nodded then, slowly tearing said envelope open from the top with a pair of scissors. "Apparently, it takes more than abandoning a shipment to piss off the Commissioner." 

"Just try not to get yourself too bloodied up," He advised her, the sort of advice innocent in any other context and wise in any other company than the mage-hating homeless man between them, "Considering Blondie going AWOL and all."

She forced a smile in the most awkward - okay, _not_ more awkward than that one Wintersend party- moment in recent memory, trying to ignore Fenris's scrutiny " _Yeeeaah._ Anyways, it's some sort of....rescue...mission. Top secret." 

Varric smirked, "Isn't it always "top secret?""

Hawke shrugged, folding the piece of paper back into its envelope, "Well, it's _top_ , top secret now. Not even a name or anything..."

"Of the kidnappers or the kidnappee?" He asked as he checked the cash in his register, that is to say he counted the _imaginary_ cash they wish they had. _  
_

Cameron grimaced, setting the envelope down on the counter, "Take your pick."

"Are you certain this isn't a trap, Hawke?" And she nearly jumped at the sound of Fenris's voice, damned Tethras chuckling at her surprise.

Why would they need to be trapped? If Cousland wanted to try anything, it'd be a poor refugee's word (or, worse yet, a formerly enslaved refugee's word) against the word of a highly respected woman holding a public office. Hawke could so much as breathe, and Cousland could _still_ find a way around the red tape known as due process. "I... Let's just say I got a gut feeling," She replied, smoothing down her T-shirt.

Varric laughed, "More like the almighty Hawke isn't worth the trouble."

"Pretty much," Hawke replied, repressing the sudden urge to light her coworker on fire.

* * *

 

 

The elephant in the room was frankly too large to tackle on its own, so she didn't tackle it at all. The truth of the matter was, they didn't trust one another. For now, he was relying on her and she relying on him in turn, but there was very little actual _trust_.

It wasn't as though it was right to blame him, Hawke knew, but, every time she considered reaching out in friendship, she remembered the words he said that night:

_"Something something mages.. something something soul..."_

Okay, she didn't remember it word-by-word, but it was certainly all about his deal with mages. The lump in her throat told her that much. 

At the very least, he didn't seem to be saying "no" to the latest job, and she hadn't seen him running in the other direction yet.  To be fair, any partner would have been better than Carver. That was practically becoming her mantra ever since her little brother abandoned their deal in favor of some elusive job offer.

"Fuck Carver," She even said, on the way out.

"Excuse me?" She hadn't even realized Fenris was next to her.

"Uh," She scratched her head, searching for a way to explain, "My brother and I... In case you haven't noticed, we don't get along."

"That much is obvious," He replied.

"Do you..." She shook her head, "Shit, I can't even believe I'm asking this."

The look on his face was damn puzzled at her behavior, and, to be honest, she was even _more_ puzzled than he. 

"I know you said you didn't... but...do you remember _anything_ about your-?" She couldn't continue. Not when even Cameron knew how fucking insensitive it sounded.

"No," He replied succinctly. "If I had family, I do not remember them."

"Ah," She said, because what else could she say? What did she expect, asking a question like that?

They walked some more, conversation stalled and the atmosphere getting more awkward by the minute. She couldn't even look at him, having known she crossed a line that shouldn't have been crossed. She knew, and yet she asked anyway. 

The crinkled envelope was clutched tighter in her grip, as the trees slowly inched down to reveal the mountain ranges. They were getting closer, then. If Maker wills it, they'd be back home in time for dinner. 

"You're fortunate." He finally broke the silence, and she couldn't help but look at him for clarity. "You have a home, Hawke, and a family. You have a place to go back to. A place to set down roots."

"I... know," She sighed, but she nodded all the same. "You're right... But Carver's still an ass though."

At that, she swore she heard him chuckle. 


End file.
